A Change of Heart' or 'A New Bag of Tricks'
by Mister Fahrenheit
Summary: [No Rest For The Wicked] Perrault was never the loyal kind of cat. Helpful, yes, but not very loyal. Cats were always the ones in charge, whether others realized it or not.


(_This little fic is set in an unknown period during the phases of events that shape 'No Rest For The Wicked'. In fact, I've no idea where it would take place. Let's make that time 'undetermined'. It's fanfiction…what would you expect? May not be canon, may not make much sense, but I wanted to explore about my current favorite character in the comic, the fabled Perrault! And, of course, I have no affiliations with 'No Rest For The Wicked'. All characters and references used are copyright of Andrea L. Peterson, 2005.)_

**'A Change of Heart' or 'A New Bag of Tricks'**

Cats didn't make good pets. A cat never greeted its owner at the door, proclaiming its master's entrance with the fanfare of pouncing upon their chest. A cat never strolled politely at its master's heel. A cat was of less practical use than an empty gun when dragged off into the morning mists for the fox hunt. A cat tended to grow less energetic and more lethargic as the long years wound by (not that any cat was exceedingly energetic to begin with). A cat, when given the firm verbal order, would never 'sit', or 'fetch', or, especially, 'play dead'. A wise master never demanded loyalty from a cat…rather; a wise master knew that a cat demanded loyalty from them.

So…exactly what imbecile conjured the positively brilliant idea that this race of insubordinate, demanding, overly pampered, pitifully spoiled cretins would ever make steadfast companions to humanity? Though, to call that one person in history an imbecile seemed a tad unfair. After all, if cats were still kept as pets to this day, then that could only mean that every single member of mankind was an imbecile. It wasn't that one historical person's fault that he belonged to the race that had earned the title of, at least in Perrault's mind, the 'failing pupil of the world'.

It wasn't as if Perrault was ungrateful for questioning the intellect of man. It was, in fact, quite the opposite. Perrault would never be as appreciative for the existence of any other species in his life…not even mice. It was this population of hopeless dimwits that gave him the opportunity to claim such a sublime lifestyle. It was all thanks to this band of intellectually inferior, pitiful little things that he had his wealth, his reputation, and, most importantly of all, his stylish footwear.

That isn't to say that everything he had was due to the stupidity of mankind. Obviously, he had to twist that stupidity around to make it work for him. As attached as Perrault had become to his own pet, the piteous Pierre, Perrault still scoffed at humans, in a sense. Most of them seemed to be hypocritical brutes. In the very least, all other creatures that were also brutes had the decency to admit just how brutish they were. As for the rest of humanity, they actually possessed good intentions, but were far too naïve for their own good.

And so, in knowing both the brutality and naiveté of mankind, the cleverest Puss in twenty kingdoms was never one to leave an escape plan overlooked. The first thing the cunning feline did in almost any situation was to determine if it was possible to sneak away with his pelt intact. Even in this current case, with those two humans that tagged along with him (For that was how it was. The humans tagged along with the cats) he had already gathered all he needed should the situation become too tense…or if he became bored…whichever came first.

He had to admit; he was wonderfully surprised when he discovered that the ring he slyly pilfered from that Beast's mansion held such a fruitful use. The ring quickly became his joy and his solace…he'd even considered slipping it on a few times, with the threat of a certain axe-wielding murder machine breathing coldly down the nape of his neck. Perrault had the distinct feeling that he would either end his travels in making use of that ring, or that Red would flay him alive and drape his skin across her shoulders.

At any spare moment, the Puss would find himself batting that precious little halo of safety between his paws. In fact, the ring had begun to distract him at times. Once every while…he'd slink off quietly to sate his gnawing desire by catching a few mice, toying with them, and then tossing their carcasses to the side. He'd done just that quite some time ago, his instinct quelled…but he couldn't bring himself to leave just yet, his boots thumping the ground in stylish rhythm as he bounced the little bit of sanctity in his palm, striped tail swaying happily from side to side. He could even feel a drop of a purr echoing about in his throat…after all, excluding the fundamental uses of the ring, cats tended to have an affinity for shiny objects.

…Though…even when he felt it was the proper time to make use of that ring, he'd find himself hesitating to slide it down his finger. After all, despite the rather frightening prospect of Red…there was also the other one, poor little Princess November, the Highness. In most ways, that title he'd automatically bestowed her with wasn't simply an act of courtesy. She was definitely higher than most, much more perceptive than most of her species. She wasn't as 'poor' as he originally imagined her to be, however, he still believed she was in dire need of his services. Red was the perfect example of intimidating muscle…but without the proper wits and judgment of a higher species, the not-so-poor November would never be able to survive…or, at least that was what he told himself. So, there was a sort of obligation…a responsibility…

"Of course, it isn't as if I'm loyal or-…"

The eloquent feline's voice stumbled. Gray fur bristled uncomfortably, a shiver running from the tip of his tail to the top of his spine, those wide yellow eyes doubling in diameter. A gentleman should never allow his innermost thoughts touch his lips. It was simply uncivilized…

Perrault gave a rather indignant groan, the back of his throat marked with a nearly inaudible hiss. He gripped the ring tightly; his nostrils still flooded with the distinct aroma of potent Magic it emanated, even with his paw concealing it. He allowed himself a dignified sigh, smoothing out the edges of his bangs, brushing the dust from his shoulders, and tugging at the lower edges of his pristine white gloves. He rarely needed too much to spontaneously groom himself, having found the proper methods of remaining clean during his mice hunts. He preferred being more thorough, yes, but he was short on time at the moment.

The cat's tail suddenly straightened, rigid as the sound of shoes crushing dead, dried leaves reached his ears, both of them twitching uncontrollably. Someone behind him? Obviously, they hadn't been there for long, or he'd have noticed. In the dead of night, in the heart of the wood, it wasn't safe for many others. Thankfully, he at least had the useful ability to see through the gloom with those unusually wide, cat-yellow eyes. He thought of Red at first…she unnaturally enjoyed these dank, dark forests. But, as he gave a silent sniff of the air, it became apparent that it was the other, more enjoyable member of his company, for Red always had a distinct metallic odor on her hands from that dreaded axe that, one too many times, had nearly lopped by the end of his tail by 'accident'.

Naïve thing…she'd wandered into the wood too many times before, for whatever oblivious reason. Then again, Perrault had been absent from the others' company for some time, he noticed. There was no moon to affirm his assumptions of what time it may be, but he had a distinct 'feeling' that he'd outlasted the time of his usual skirmishes. It was out of concern then? He was slightly doubtful, but he allowed a mildly flattered grin snake onto his lips either way.

He could only assume that a stray glint of light caused by the ring hopping between his palms caught her eye. He dug his tongue into his cheek, pinching the beloved loop and raising it up before those eyes that didn't know he knew she was watching.

…Watching him…as he toyed with that ring as playfully as he would one of his soon to be late mice. He could end it all now…be done with it…slip that ring across his finger, go home, laugh and grow fat in the sun. After all…it wasn't as if he were loyal to anyone, despite the newfound attachment. She was better company than most…wonderful, company in fact. In the very least, she was good for a laugh if he twisted her toward a certain word. But, he still wasn't loyal…cats were never loyal. Perrault made the obvious choice…

He reared his paw back and slung forward in a throw, the ring gone from his hand.

He turned aristocratically upon his heel, a modest smirk gracing his lips. "Pardon me, Your Highness. Is there anything that you want? I apologize for overstaying my welcome away from good company, but…it's a lovely night out tonight, moon or not."

The scarlet haired woman gave a quick shake of her head, inconspicuously clearing her throat. She seemed tired, he noticed…but he dismissed it quickly. She always seemed tired, wide eyes marred by the black rings that had developed through her sleepless nights.

November gave another sheepish sort of cough, knowing that even if she was unable to sleep, he was, and there was no reason to ruin it for anyone else. "I think you need to keep your mouse obsession under control. It deprives of sleep…which, I should know, isn't good."

Perrault greeted the statement with a hissing soft of laugh, holding a gloved paw to his throat. "I shall be there within a short moment, Your Highness."

The cursed insomniac strolled on her morbid little way. Apparently, she had no fear of the twilight forest for the moment, no apprehension of whatever Terror the night could spawn. More than likely, Red had already frightened any and brands of beast and carnivore to the outskirts of the wood with the venomous Aura of her considerable presence.

The Puss in Boots waited for quite some time, listening intently to the footsteps that carried His Highness away…before a purring grin curled mischievously at the corners of his mouth, his rigid tail falling into its old sense of fluidity, elegantly swishing at the heels of his boots. A nimble finger reached into his sleeve, pulling out the ring that he'd just feigned tossing away.

Perrault forgave her naiveté, for, like so many others, she had good intentions. This would put her in higher spirits for a short time. The crafty mouser might be loyal, but he was by no means an imbecile, and by no means a pet.


End file.
